


tales from the dragon.

by eoghainy



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10048664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoghainy/pseuds/eoghainy
Summary: a collection of dragon ball drabbles.





	1. other world.

The budding realization that was beginning to tear Roshi’s insides apart was enough to make the tip of his tongue ache. This masked fighter was one like no other; the way he had bowed, his voice, his pose, even his words, it almost felt as if Roshi were experiencing a hallucination — or rather, a glimpse into the past. How could this be? He wasn’t crazy, but he was so sure . . . 

Nastily, he shot a look at his elder sister, noting how she refused to look at him. Was there even the slightest bit of guilt that she felt? Did she know what doing this would do? No, of course not. Baba was insensitive and callous, caring for no one but herself when there were fighters in her ring. 

“Roshi,” Yamcha pressed, his voice a lot softer than Roshi remembered. Rather than respond, his grip instead tightened on his stave. He wasn’t sure. He _couldn’t_ be sure with that mask in the way.

“ _Roshi_ ,” Bulma echoed, and he could feel her royal blue gaze burning into his shoulder. Still, he refused to look or speak, unable to tear his gaze from the match. 

_Could it be? It’s very possible. Baba would be inclined to pull such a trick if she were confident that it would work. Still, has she no heart? Her doing such a thing could break the poor boy. Perhaps she doesn’t know? I sincerely doubt that._

With that final move that sent the masked man and Goku to opposite ends of the ring, both inhaling heavily and sizing each other up, Roshi was sure that his earlier suspicions were right. There was no way that it _wasn’t_. 

The corners of his aged mouth puled upwards into a wry grin, eyes crinkling from behind the glasses. Oh, Baba was a cruel woman indeed. He knew this man, for he had trained him himself. This man had gone on to be one of Roshi’s favorite students, and by far most powerful. He was the only one besides Goku that could master the Kamehameha Wave and be so adept at preforming it. It finally all made sense; all the minor pieces clicked into place, letting him know that he wasn’t insane, only viewing a spirit.

He knew this spirits name as well as his own.

“ _Gohan_.”


	2. tien vs goku.

“Yamcha,” Bulma whispered, tightening her grip on her boyfriend. She couldn’t bear to watch Tien and Goku go at each other so brutally; the bruises and the wounds that were blossoming across both of their skins were beginning to turn nasty, and though both were slowing down, neither lost the desire to beat each other.

“Just hold onto me.” Yamcha wrapped one arm around her, pulling her close to his chest. He was easily able to balance on his crutch and hold her with one arm at the same time. “Don’t watch. Just hold onto me.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Goku let out a sharp shriek. 

“I _can’t_ ,” Bulma pressed her face into his suit, tears beginning to slip out from her closed eyelids. “This is so awful!” Her breath was caught in her throat, bottom lip trembling. She didn’t like this. This was far more brutal than the other fights, more brutal than the first Tournament. 

“Just focus on me, you can focus on me. Look, you don’t have to watch.” His crutch clattered to the ground as he balanced on his broken leg, his arms wrapping tightly around her. He couldn’t tear his own gaze away from the fight, struggling to keep up with Tien and Goku’s rapid movements. He could barely stand to see each minor hit, each timed kick, each seemingly _impossible_ rapid movement, but the longer he watched, the easier it became to see them clearly. 

Still . . . even if it did seem as if Tien was going to be turning over a new leaf, Yamcha didn’t trust him. Neither did Bulma, but Goku was the forgiving one. He would end up trusting Tien most likely. 

“Is it over?” Bulma breathed. Her voice was so soft that Yamcha almost didn’t hear her at first. His suit jacket was damp from her tears. Everyone was silent, even Tien and Goku.

Blinking, Yamcha looked at the ring, a frown pulling down his lips. “No, they’re on opposite sides and Tien is catching his breath.” He reported. “They’re going back at it again, so don’t look up.” He tightened his grasp. Bulma made an audible noise that signified breathlessness, but Yamcha didn’t stop squeezing her.

“It won’t be over for a long while yet.”


	3. asshole.

“Vegeta, I’m worried about Trunks,” Bulma murmured, sitting down on their bed with a sigh. “He’s hardly been the same since he and Goten had that fight.” She frowned, reaching for her pump of lotion that was sitting in her open drawer. Squirting some out on her hands, she pulled her leg up on the bed and began massaging it into her skin. Her muscles were sore from walking around Capsule Corp. all day in an attempt to keep up with her mother and her father.

“He hasn’t been the same?” Vegeta snorted in disbelief. “He’s better than ever! I’ve never seen the kid train so damn hard.”

Bulma narrowed her eyes at him. “He’s _sad_ , Vegeta. He seems so distraught, and I don’t like seeing him like that. You using this against him isn’t good for him.” She kneaded her fingers into her now - slick skin, frowning. “I want you to talk to him to try and convince him to apologize. He did start it, after all. He won’t listen to me.”

“My _son_ doesn’t need to apologize,” Vegeta growled. He was sitting opposite of her on the bed, his charcoal gaze gleaming with anger. “If anything, it’s Kakarot’s brat that needs to apologize!” 

“Fine, be like that then,” Bulma muttered, throwing her hands up in defeat. She _hated_ arguing with Vegeta, it almost always ended with her giving in because of his ridiculous stubbornness. He was one of the worst type people that she had met, but still, she loved him all the same. She squired more lotion into the palm of her hand, moving to her other leg. “At least . . . can you talk to him? Let him know that his relationship with Goten is still going to be good farther down the road?”

“Trunks is a _teenager_ ,” Vegeta growled. “He can take care of himself. He doesn’t need either of us telling him what to do and how to feel. He doesn’t need _me_ to tell him that. A Prince should learn to stand up for himself.”

“Well, we’re not on Planet Vegeta now with adoring servants who want to bow to their royals every whim now, are we?” Bulma snapped hotly. “He’s part human, too! He needs parental guidance!” 

Vegeta tossed her a scathing look. “I would do anything to get you to _shut up_ about Trunks’ relationship with Goten right now,” his bad mood was back. “He will be _fine_. Get that through your shrewd head.”

Bulma slammed her drawer shut, wiping her slick hands off on her short shirt. “If you think he’ll be fine, then you can go sleep out in the living room!” 

A sudden primal look entered the Saiyan’s gaze. With a throaty purr that he knew Bulma would become unraveled with, he leaned forward, nipping her bottom lip. It was blunter and rougher than usual, but all the same, it washed her displeasure with him _far_ away. 

“What were you saying?” His voice was low in her ear, and she could feel his warm breath stirring her hair.

“I don’t . . . remember. . .” 

“That’s what I thought.” Triumphantly, Vegeta slid back onto his side of the bed, furling himself underneath the covers and turning out the bedside light. “Goodnight.” 

Bulma sat there, shocked by Vegeta’s change of mood. His rapid changes were coming too quickly for her to keep up with! 

“Asshole,” Bulma muttered as she got comfortable on her side of the bed, going to sleep with her lower lip pulled out in a childish pout.


	4. love.

It was idle, tending to Tien’s wounds. Idle and calming. Calming. Reassuring. Familiar. 

It was easy to get lost in the steady sounds of Tien’s breathing. His bare chest would rise, linger for a moment, then fall. Again. And again. And again. All three eyes were shut, his short eyelashes highlighting the gentle curve to his cheeks. Blood occasionally trickled out through some wounds, but Launch was always quick to wash the scarlet drops away. With a damp cloth she’d gently draw it against his wounds, watching as goosebumps rose along his skin and as a tremor ran down his spine. 

Sighing, Launch set the cloth down on the table, moving to drape her arms around Tien’s neck. He stiffened momentarily, clearly not expecting her to have stopped so soon, but relaxed. Her arms draped one over the other against his chest, and her chin gently rested against the tendon connecting his shoulder to his neck. His sweaty, dirty, bloody skin was all - too familiar to her, all too soothing. 

“Launch,” Tien murmured, raising one hand to lay over her own two. He was warm.

Lovingly, she pressed her lips to his neck, not minding the bitter tang that came with it. “Hm?” 

“I’m still sore.” He grunted, and Launch couldn’t help but laugh. “Be careful with me.” 

“Aren’t I always?” She turned her top hand over to grasp his. Tien’s hand was so large against her dainty, slim one. He squeezed, and she returned the pressure. “. . . I worry about you.” 

“This has been my life for a long time,” he reminded. “Please, don’t worry.” His eyes were closed again. All three. 

“But you come back injured, and sometimes it takes so long for you to heal.” She pressed, giving his neck another kiss. He shivered underneath her touch. 

“That’s the life of a martial artist.” 

Launch traced one of the many scars along his chest, noting it as a ki blast scar. She wasn’t sure whom had given it, for he had tens of others along his shoulders, back, legs and arms. It had been growing harder and harder to tell what scars came from what person. She was so grateful to have Tien in her life, but the stress that came with him often left her exhausted. 

She was often reminded of Goku and Krillin when she treated Tien’s wounds. The little boys that she had loved with all of her heart — even in both mind - sets. After long days of sparring, she’d treat their bruises and their minor cuts, and then after the tournaments she would set their broken bones and keep a wary eye on their concussions. They had been her boys and thankfully through them, she had been able to meet Tien. He hadn’t been the kindest at first, nor the most accepting, but his cold exterior warmed with the love Launch offered him. It was true, she loved Tien.

“I suppose it’s useless to ask you to be more careful?” She asked, knowing that her words were wasted. 

“Absolutely useless.” He confirmed. His eyes were still closed. 

Launch frowned. Her fingers had stopped their idle tracing, so her hands were back to resting flat against his bare skin. He was still warm, still slightly damp. “I worry that you’ll die.” Her voice grew choked. 

“That’s not going to happen again.” Tien’s voice grew harder. He turned in the chair so that he could face Launch, enclosed by her slender arms now locked around his neck. Her hands moved so that her fingers were laced, gently resting against the nape of his neck. “I promise, I’m not going to go anywhere.”

Launch, finally able to see Tien fully, couldn’t pull her gaze away from a scar on his right breast. Her hands unclasped, touching the scar with a gentle finger. Tien’s eyebrows arched, but he didn’t speak. She still remembered the panic that had filled her when Mercenary Tao had pulled the blade seemingly out of nowhere and had struck Tien, splitting his skin with ease. Because she had been Blondie, she had taken the surprise with more ease than she would have if she had been Blue. Bile rose in the back of her throat as she continued to look at it, tracing it with her eyes. This scar was a constant reminder that Tien was not invulnerable, that he could be killed if someone tried hard enough. She . . . 

“I’m worried about losing you.” Launch moved to touch her forehead to his shoulder, easily sliding into his lap. She was sitting on his knees, not applying too much pressure. He still had to be incredibly sore. “I don’t think I’d survive losing you.” 

Tien’s arms wrapped fully around her, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into her shoulder blades. He seemed to have little worry for himself. “You won’t have to.” His voice was low, hoarse even. “You won’t ever have to.”

Raising her head, Launch’s doe - like blue - eyed gaze connected with his charcoal, hers being filled with tears. “I love you, Tien.” She hadn’t said the words out loud yet, but she was aware that she felt them. She felt them as painfully as she felt her other personality, just dwelling beyond her reach. 

Surprised, Tien looked at her with his eyebrows raised again. His mouth was parted, his pink tongue pressed against the backs of his white teeth, shock glimmering within his expression. Launch didn’t know what was done to him at that nasty Shen’s school, and what abuse he must have endured, but it left him emotionally incompetent. Launch had long - since come to realize this, and had accepted it at being apart of him.

“You don’t have to say it back — ” Launch stammered. “Not if you’re not ready — ”

“No,” his voice is firm, unwavering. Something within him hardened enough for him to speak to her with his resolve intact. “No, I . . . I feel it, Launch. I do. And I . . .” His face was getting to be flushed, cheeks growing redder and redder by the second. He was turning scarlet! “I love you, Launch.” 

That did it. Tears spilled over Launch’s waterlines, and her lips pulled up into a bright smile; arms being thrown around his neck and her face being buried back in his shoulder. Tien grunted again — this time in more pain than he was before — but still held her close. 

Tien loved her, and that was all that mattered to her.


	5. transform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil drabble of how gohan turns into ssj2 ?? idk

Energy cracked around the young man, flashing in sparks of blue and rusted over gold. Irises flickered wildly from black to green, black to green, _black to green,_ and back once more. Teeth gritted down, revealing sharper incisors that were almost animalistic. Dark locks began to grow, twisting from their flat state to become spiked, golden highlights twining their way along his skull.

An aura, previously invisible to the naked eye, was projected into a golden hue. It surrounded him like a shield, protecting him from any attacks that may come. It almost seemed to taper to point of flame around him, symbolistic to the wild and fiery nature of him, of a _Saiyan_.

A minds eye draws upon memories, terrible memories, that strengthen the rage and the need to be stronger, better, _faster_. 

Piccolo killing his father and Radiz. Nappa killing Piccolo, the only father he had had for a year — that taught him how to fight, and gradually became his friend. Vegeta torturing his father. Tien’s death. Chiaotzu’s death. Yamcha’s death. Frieza and all the hurt he inflicted; the death of Krillin, the death of Vegeta, the loss of his father once more. The Androids. Cell. The final death of Goku, the death of Android Sixteen, and the death of the unusual man known only as Future Trunks, the impending doom of the Earth if he failed, the way Cell would hurt his friends if he _failed_.

Fear of not being good enough. Fear of failure. Fear of losing. Fear of watching another die. Fear of inferiority. Fear of _death_.

Power attacks his body in relentless waves. It’s enough to make him tremble where he stands, finally almost ready enough to reach that hidden cache of abilities that were locked within him. This was his birthright. This was what he was born for. He was a Saiyan, even if his blood was diluted, and he was going to embrace every part of what that means.

Eyes black as obsidian become enveloped by green, a gleam of rage glinting within their emerald depths. A slender, lean body grows, revealing the muscles that line his body and go on to be hidden during his normal state. They’re firm and threatening, and they begin to twitch, accepting the power that longs to fill them, to flow into his entire body and remind him of what an animal he truly was.

As an ear – piercing shriek leaves his lips, signaling the end of the transformation, his hair is overwhelmed by the gold that had been tugging at his roots. The locks seem longer, thicker, more beautifully hued and contrasting with his rough, scarred, tan skin.

Still a young man, not even breaching the age of twenty yet, he skipped over the first form with ease. Too easy, _too easy_! His instincts had screamed, pushing him to go to the next, the one he’d achieved when he was only a boy of eleven. The dam had broken. His rage had been unleashed along with his power, and there was no going back.

Gohan had been awakened.


	6. pangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something also done during the buu saga

“He’s my brother! I _love him_!” 

Something struck Trunks then. Watching Goten, the stupid little _baby_ , practically beginning to cry over the need to rescue his brother, something almost akin to loneliness swelled within the young Saiyan. Despite the giant age gap between Gohan and Goten, they were close.

Very close. 

The loss of their father and being raised by their mother was what bonded them. Gohan paved the way for Goten; he showed his younger brother everything, taught him and showed him how to fight like him. They were as close as glue, and with a pang, Trunks realized he never had that.

He had no siblings. He had no cousins. He had nothing. He was lonely, with no one but Goten to keep him company. Sure, the Son boy was good sometimes, but he was a child! He acted like he knew _everything_! He sulked more than he played or trained, and Trunks wanted a sibling that would match his own wit.

The tears welling in the ducts of Goten’s eyes were convincing. Loyalty to kin had truly taken over the boy, and his pride was tossed aside. “My brother, Trunks!” He repeated. “I can’t lose him!”

Chancing a look over at the others, Trunks struggled to think. It was too soon to fuse again, but their powers _were_ quite high. They could . . . they could help. _Couldn’t_ they?

Lavender hues sparkled as they turned to Goten. “Don’t worry about a thing!” He crowed, ignoring the stab in his chest. He wanted a brother. He wanted someone to care about and look up to. He wanted someone to admire and learn from. But, he had grown up with Gohan too. Watching Gohan die was not in his best interest. 

“We’ll go save Gohan.”


End file.
